


I Can See The Light

by Enochianess



Series: Letting You Let Go [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Christmas, Christmas Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Identity Issues, Kittens, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Steve Rogers, Rimming, Smut, Top Steve Rogers, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:24:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7821367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enochianess/pseuds/Enochianess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are Bucky Barnes, and Steve Rogers loves you. Despite the odds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can See The Light

**Author's Note:**

> This fic follows the events of [Red](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7431085) and [Your Heart's A Mess](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7695409), so I'd really recommend reading them first! They set the tone of the fic and give background to Bucky's mental state. It can totally be read alone though if you don't fancy reading the others.
> 
> So, this was supposed to be short and fluffy, but somehow turned into this?? Anyways, I hope you like it!

Time goes by. November turns to December. The city gets busier with the influx of tourists ready for the holidays. You and Steve sit at the table in the kitchen eating pancakes. Steve reads the newspaper, occasionally humming, and you watch him with a smile on your face. You think, maybe, everything will be just fine.

 

You still spend most of your days in the apartment, remaining on lockdown for the safety of everybody else, but Steve likes to take you on walks. It's just something you do now. Day or night, you go on small adventures. He takes you to Prospect Park and around the Botanic Gardens. You wander one evening by the waterfront in companionable silence, your arms brushing and your shoulders knocking. He smiles at you, shoves you, and he runs with a carefree laughter as you chase him all the way home. He takes you into the city, watches as you look around in astonishment at just how tall everything is now. He buys you hotdogs, donuts, pretzels. He buys you whatever you want, whatever will make you happy. You're not quite Bucky Barnes. You're somebody slightly different. But you think Steve is starting to like this version too. 

 

Steve's beginning to get exasperated with you as you make your way around Albertson's. The thing is, he's had time to adjust to the 21st century in a way that you haven't. You were too busy being the asset. For you, there's so many new things to try and to get excited about.

You throw four boxes of cereal into the shopping cart despite Steve's protests that the two of you are never going to eat that much cereal. You ignore him and rush to the next aisle where there are far more kinds of pasta than you can process. 

"Excuse me." You hear someone say behind you. It's a young woman with dark hair, pretty, and she's staring up at Steve like she's just seen a Greek god. Which, in a way, she just has. She has a baby in her cart that is stretching her arms out towards her mother, wriggling in a desperate bid to escape the confines of her seat. "Could I get a picture of you holding my daughter?"

Steve nods at her with a kind smile on his face, but you can see the embarrassment there, the part of Steve that hates being in the spotlight.

She looks at you and pushes the camera into your hands. "Would you mind?"

"Of course." You reply. You swallow thickly.

The woman picks up her fidgeting baby and passes her to Steve, who stares at her almost in fear. He masks it well though and turns to the camera with a big smile on his face. You wink at him and celebrate in your mind when it makes him smile for real. He looks good holding the child and you wish that Steve could have that. Perhaps he would've if he hadn't sunk that ship into the ice. He could've gone home with Peggy, grown old with her, started a family. You look down sadly and pass the camera back without looking at the woman.

"You alright, Buck?" He asks once they're alone again.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"What for?" You look up at him in confusion.

"I don't know." He shrugs. "Just— I don't like being recognised in public like that."

"I know. I'm just happy she didn't recognise _me._ That would've been a shit show." 

Steve smiles sadly at you, but doesn't say anymore. He pushes the cart down the aisle and you follow him silently.

 

Darkness swirls around you as you move, your eyes icy and menacing, bright against the black smothered around them. Steve stands a few feet away, his hair looking like a golden halo, his eyes bright too, but filled with curiosity and a pureness you've never possessed. The shield is in your hand and your shoulder aches from catching it, the momentum strong and the metal unbreakable. You stare him down, feel the way the earth shakes. It feels like standing before a wreckage, the universe falling apart. You know this man, but you don't have the time or the energy to ponder how or why. He looks bewildered, his eyes fixed on your arm, and you throw the shield as hard as you can, desperate to distract him so you can get away and complete the mission. You jump from the roof and you fall, fall, fall. But this time, Steve jumps after you, his hands reaching out, but never able to grasp your own. You hit the floor, your skull cracking but not breaking, pain shooting through every limb, every bone. Steve hits the ground beside you, hard, blood pooling around him. You sit up, nudge him, but Steve doesn't move. Steve feels cold so suddenly and you remember the ice, the burning of it. You burn now. It hurts more than any other pain you've ever felt, worse than the chair, worse than the cryo. Steve is everything, and now he is nothing.

You wake up and Steve is crouched beside you on the mattress wiping the tears off your face. He's smiling softly and you reach out and pull him to you. He comes easily, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tight against his chest. "Bad dream?" He asks.

You nod, sniffling.

"You wanna talk about it?"

You shake your head, but you say, "Falling. Always falling."

"It's okay, Buck. I've got you now. I'm not gonna let go."

But that's not what's bothering you. You grip him tighter and the pain in your chest begins to fade, the shaking of your hands starts to die down. He's here. You'll keep him safe. You won't let him fall.

 

You're laying on your mattress, naked except for the dog tags that remind you of who you are, a cigarette hanging from between your thumb and forefinger. The sun coming through the window is so bright you're squinting against it, but it's warm against your skin and makes everything look golden. You lean back and stare at the ceiling, the small chandelier that hangs there, so unlike Steve's taste, but there all the same. Its prisms reflect against the walls and floor and you sigh as you reach out for the tiny diamond shaped shadows with your fingers. You lean back, cushioning your head on one arm, one leg bent at the knee, and take a long drag. It makes you light-headed and floaty and you sink down into the mattress with a blissful smile on your face. Since Steve mentioned that you used to smoke, you've been doing it pretty regularly. You use one of Steve's tumblers as an ashtray and hide it between the mattress and the window.

Steve knocks on the door and you invite him in, forgetting your state of undress. You both stare at each other wide eyed and then you burst into laughter, shaking with it even harder when you see the blush on Steve's face.

"Hey, Stevie." You say.

Steve grins widely back at you. "Stevie, huh?"

Now it's your time to blush. "Sorry. Do you not—"

"No, I do. It's just, that's what you always used to call me. Before."

You nod and look down with a small smile etched on your face. You can't help but feel proud for giving Steve a little bit of his old Bucky. It feels right leaving your mouth, shaped around your lips. It feels like redemption.

"You shouldn't smoke inside. It'll stain the walls." He says, walking over the mattress to open the window.

"Nooo, Stevie. It's cold."

"Buck, it's winter, and you're naked."

"Yeah, but the thermostat's on high."

"Good job that army pension pays well then, huh?"

You smile cheekily at him, getting up to pull some clothes on.

"Better?" You ask when you're dressed in sweatpants and a thick jumper.

"Much." 

"I like being naked. It's freeing." You complain with a pout.

Steve snorts. "If you think I'm staring at your bare ass all the time in my apartment then you've got another thing coming."

"Admit it. You like my ass."

Steve blushes furiously and you burst into laughter again, mirth crinkling the corners of your eyes. "Only teasing, pal."

You walk together into the living room and Steve drops onto the couch, you finding your way to your new favourite spot on the floor beside Steve, your head pressed against his thigh and his hand in your hair. You relax immediately, slump against him making a small humming noise, and look at the television where some 1990s comedy show is playing. Steve laughs loudly and you close your eyes with a smile, beginning to drift into that feeling of safety you always feel when Steve's close by. It's comforting. Steve's comforting.

 

You spend a lot of time watching Steve. You used to before, but it was strategic. You were wary, frightened. Now, it's with a swooping of your stomach, and drying of your throat, and thumping of your heart.

You feel like you're on fire. He lights you up from the inside out. He's so good he makes even you shine.

 

Steve is packing his bag ready for his next mission. You grumble, hovering just inside his bedroom, scowling at Steve's back.

"What's the matter, Buck?" He asks, not even bothering to turn around.

"You only just got back."

"I know, but it's a lead on Hydra and I've got to be there. I don't wanna sit out on this one. Not after what they did to you."

You feel something hard in your chest melt and you lean against the wall for support. You're not used to this warmth. It's crippling. "I don't want you to go." You whisper.

Steve walks over and pulls you into a hug. "I'll be back before you know it." He says softly in your ear. You try your best to repress a shiver, but fail miserably. "Anya will keep you company."

You squeeze him gently and bury your face in the column of Steve's neck. Since you started touching Steve a couple of weeks ago, you've been finding it difficult to stop. He seems to crave your touch just as much. "It's not the same."

"I know, buddy."

   
Steve isn't supposed to, but he lets you go out for runs by yourself in the evenings. It's freeing being outside of the apartment in the safety of the darkness. You've always been better suited to the night. You move like a shadow, a panther, moving swiftly and silently through the streets, unseen and deadly. You're not there to kill though, only to run. It feels good to stretch your legs, to use up some of that violent energy that you've still not been able to rid yourself of. 

 

You look in the mirror and you still see a ghost. You're Bucky Barnes, you know that deep down, but you feel like a traitor every time you see his face staring back at you. You've clawed at it in horror more than once and Steve always sits patiently with you afterwards and then cleans up the mess that is left. 

He likes to reassure you, remind you of all the ways you are still his best friend. He never mentions the parts of who you are that turns you sick to your stomach, just reminds you that he loves all of you— _loves_. He doesn't push. He lets you sink into your bones at a slow pace until you can look at yourself and recognise yourself as the man from Brooklyn from all those years ago. He stands behind you, squeezes your shoulders and smiles.  _Proud,_ is the word he uses when you're able to stand there for five minutes without freaking out. 

You let him cut your hair and shave your beard. It's more intimate than either of you thought it would be and you find yourselves gazing into each other's eyes for longer than what is probably acceptable between friends. You feel lighter afterwards, and it's all worth it for the way Steve looks at you, as if you've just given him the best gift he could've ever asked for. You run your fingertips through the fluffy part on top and give a sigh of relief. It feels like one more piece of yourself that you've reclaimed, one more part of the asset that you've shredded. 

"Thank you." You breathe out.

He hooks his chin over your shoulder and smiles. "You're welcome, Buck."

 

It's been gnawing at you for weeks now, the heaviness of your past, all the parts Steve doesn't know about.

Punching a man in the face again and again until it's deformed and split open like a watermelon. Holding a pillow over a little girl's face while she kicks out and screams, her thrashing finally stopping and her body falling limp. Shooting the mother between the eyes and dragging her body behind you through the dirt like she's nothing but trash. Worst of all, the way you did it so passively, so uncaring as to the lives you've just ended. You know you had no choice, but all of it was still you. It was your hands that choked the life out of so many people. Your hands that held their fate and chose to obey rather than save. It was with your eyes that you watched them die. They're your memories, and you'll never be rid of them.

It plagues you day and night.

You know you're Bucky, but you still feel undeserving of the name. You're not supposed to keep secrets from Steve—the old Bucky wouldn't have dreamed of it. You need Steve to know what kind of person his friend is. It's only fair. He's a good person, he'll be able to overlook your flaws, but these stories he may find hard to accept. All the progress the two of you have made could be lost, but you don't lie to Steve. You can't. You feel Bucky's guilt, the old Bucky, and it twists and eats at you like a parasite. He needs to know, so he can get out if he wants to. Any longer and the heartbreak will be too much for you. He needs to know now.

"Steve." You whisper. You're reading a book whilst Steve sketches you. It's calm in the apartment and you feel bad for breaking the peace, but you can't stand it any longer.

"Mhm?" 

"I'm ready to talk now. About— About before."

Steve looks up, his eyebrows high on his forehead, and sets his sketchbook down on the coffee table. "You don't have to, Buck."

"No. I need to tell you. You need to know what I've done."

You pour your heart out, tell him everything you've done over the past seventy years in excruciating detail, and it  _hurts._ You're sobbing by the end of it, curled up in the corner of the couch because you won't let him touch you. He's crying too, thick droplets falling down his cheeks. He reaches out again and this time you go, this time you let him pull you into his lap and allow yourself to be wrapped up in a tight embrace. He chants your name over and over and it only serves to make you cry harder.

"I'm not him, Stevie. I'm not him."

"Yes you are." He says firmly.

"Bucky was good. I'm evil. I'm— I'm an abomination."

Steve yanks your head back and hits your foreheads together hard enough that it hurts. "You're not. You're my Bucky."

You squeeze your eyes closed, try to get yourself under control. "How? After all the things I've done, how can you possibly say that?"

"Do you remember me? Do you care about me?" He asks, pulling your body closer until you're straddling him and your chests are flush together.

"Of course I do."

"You saved me. You jumped off that helicarrier and dived into the Potomac. You distracted Tony when he had a clear shot. You've saved me over and over, even when you weren't yourself because  _here,"_ He reaches between your bodies to press against your heart,  _"here_ you'll always be Bucky. You'll always be him. Okay? None of any of what you've just told me was your fault. I don't forgive you because there's nothing to forgive. You're a good man Bucky Barnes and if I have to spend the rest of my life trying to convince you of that then I will."

You find yourself whimpering, pushing your face into the column of his neck and taking in his scent, the smell of his warm skin. 

"I know it hurts. I know." Steve whispers, rubbing your back soothingly. "But you can stop fighting now. You're home. I've got you."

 

You've been reading  _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_ this week because Steve recommended it, and one day you turn the page to find a passage underlined with one word scrawled beside it: _Buck._

"There had to be the dark and muddy waters so that the sun could have something to background its flashing glory."

You read it and reread it, over and over, and your eyes sting with the tears you are trying not to shed. 

 

You approach Steve with something akin to trepidation.

"Can I go out?" You ask quietly, suddenly afraid of Steve's response. 

"Where?" He replies with furrowed brows.

"Just— I want to go out. By myself."

A sad expression takes over his face and he shakes his head. "I can't, Buck. You know you're not allowed. Shield's orders. It's different during the day. Someone could spot you."

Your shoulders slump and you look to the ground.

"Where'd you want to go anyway? I can take you if you want. I figure we can bend the rules a little bit. 'S not like we don't go out all the time anyway."

"I wanted to get you a Christmas present." You mumble unhappily. When you look up Steve has the softest, happiest expression on his face you think you've ever seen. It's so... fond.

"You don't have to get me anything, Buck."

"I want to though. You're my best friend."

Steve jumps up from the couch and wraps his arms tightly around you, swaying slowly back and forth. You feel a wetness at your neck and realise that he's crying. "Shh. It's okay, Stevie," you whisper. It only serves to make him cry harder though. 

"I'll call Fury." He says wetly when he steps back, wiping at his slightly puffy eyes.

You smile widely at him and nod. "Thank you."

 

You can hear Steve speaking to someone in his bedroom, so you mute the television and sit silently to listen.

"But Sir, he's doing well. He's going crazy cooped up in here. He hasn't said anything, but he's got all these nervous ticks and I'm worried he's gonna start losing all the progress he's made."

You blanch. Nervous ticks? What've you been doing?

"Please just let me let him out for a day. Just one day. He's got a tracker in him, I can keep an eye out."

It's silent for a moment while Steve listens to the person on the other end of the line, presumably Fury. You jump when you hear Steve yell, "He's a goddamn POW! None of this is his fault. He didn't have a choice. We can't keep him hidden in my apartment forever. We've got to give him a fucking chance." 

There's another pause and then, "No. Goodbye, Fury."

When he comes back into the living room you jump to your feet and start scowling at him "What nervous ticks?"

Steve gives out a small laugh. "You don't have any, Buck. Don't worry. I was just trying to persuade him."

"And?"

"He said the only way you are gonna be allowed out is if your turn yourself in first. You'd have to stay under observation for six months."

You shake your head quickly, your eyes going wide with fear. "No. I— I can't."

"Hey, hey." Steve coos, stepping forward and pulling you towards him. "I'm not gonna let that happen. We'll just... have to find a way around it."

"Like with the running."

"Yeah. Like with the running."

 

"One day we're gonna go to Europe. Pack our bags and catch a plane, just the two of us." Steve says one cold morning.

"What about saving the world?"

"The Avengers will manage without me. I'm not indispensable."

"You say that now, but you won't be able to leave. They'll guilt trip you into staying. Still got that strong goddamn sense of duty. And, you are indispensable. You're their leader, Steve."

"They're all just as qualified. They'd let me go, if I really wanted to."

You nod, even though you know it's a lie. "I'll go wherever you want to Steve."

Steve smiles at you and it's dazzling. Your breath gets stuck in your throat and you struggle to keep your feet moving one in front of the other. You want to lie down and bask in that glow forever. 

"We could go to Paris. See what it looks like when we're not in the middle of a war."

"Well there won't be any brothels anymore, Stevie. We'll have to find something else to do."

Steve laughs. "Oh God, I remember that night. You paid for that girl for me and shut me in the room with her. We just sat on the bed the whole time, but she ruffled my hair up so it looked like we'd had sex."

"Yeah, I weren't fooled though."

Steve laughs loudly. "I know. Never could lie to you."

You grin widely at him. "Me neither, pal."

"I'm kind of glad there's none now. Scarred me for life. I'm not letting you drag me into that again. Besides, I think we're fine without one now, don't you?"

"Buddy, neither of us have gotten laid for about seventy years."

Steve blushes bright red and you laugh. He never had been able to talk as casually about sex as you always could.

"Well, there's no one I want to have sex with anyway."

You frown. "No one?"

"Well, maybe one person."

"Who?"

He stares at you intently and butterflies go off in your stomach. There's no way he can be saying what you think he's saying. You have no idea what's transpiring between you, what's happening in this moment, but Steve's face has gone all soft and sweet despite the blushing and you'd give anything to keep it that way. You nod at him almost imperceptibly and it seems to be the right answer because he steps forward and strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, the touch feather light. He leans forward, his gaze dropping to your lips. Your heart's beating what feels like a thousand beats a minute, your breathing going shallow, your hands turning clammy. But then suddenly, Steve's phone rings. You both jump into the air a little and then laugh, Steve rubbing at the back of his neck.

"I gotta get this." He says. "It's Natasha."

You nod and it takes a lot of will power to break the eye contact and walk away. You look over your shoulder before you enter your bedroom and find Steve still staring. He gives you a small smile and you have to fight to keep upright. You take a long, deep breath and close the door behind you, leaning back against it with a grin. _Steve,_ you think.  _Steve, Steve, Steve._

 

“Hey, Buck. D’you want a beer?” Steve calls from the kitchen.

You’re sat on the couch shoving handfuls of popcorn into your mouth, barely breathing between mouthfuls, waiting for Steve to come back so you can start watching a movie. The two of you are working through a list that Natasha and Sam had given Steve a couple of months ago. It appears he’s made little progress on it, too busy saving the world all the time.

"Yeah."

“What’s this one called again?” Steve asks as he settles beside you.

“The Princess Bride.”

Steve hums. “Sounds weird.”

“I’ve seen it before. It’s actually pretty good.”

“D’you wanna watch something else then?”

“No. I like this one.” You say, resting your head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve puts a hand on your knee and you find your own hands beginning to tremble. You nuzzle against him for a moment, taking in his calming smell, and sigh when Steve moves his hand and begins to scratch lightly at the hairs at the bottom of your skull. "Comfortable?"

You hum in reply. 

"We should do this more often. It's nice."

"We could do if you were ever actually home."

Steve is silent for a moment and then says seriously, "I'll try to be here more. Not take as many missions. Spend time with you."

"I wasn't trying to make you feel bad. Just miss you sometimes is all." You reply quietly with a shrug.

You feel Steve take a deep breath, hear the sound of it beneath your ear. "I'll talk to Fury." 

"Steve, you don't have to give anything up for me. I know you like your work." You say, sitting upright so you can look him in the eye.

"It isn't a chore, Buck. I like spending time with you." He replies with a smile. "Besides, I'm owed a little time off. Don't you think?"

You snort. "More than just a little, pal. You haven't had a real day off since the 1930s. We can go to Coney Island. Ride the Cyclone or whatever they have now."

"You remember that?"

"Course I do, punk. You threw up everywhere and wouldn't talk to me the whole way home."

"Yeah, because you wouldn't stop laughing at me you jerk." 

"Well, you should have seen your face."

 

Steve is looking at you differently, and it makes something tighten low in your belly. It's subtle, but it's there. His eyes go soft, his face lighting up with a lopsided smile, like you're the greatest thing he's ever seen. He stares at you when he thinks you're not looking and blushes when he gets caught. His throat bobs when you walk into the living room with no shirt on because the one you want is hanging over the back of the couch. He just... he looks at you in a way you never thought you'd be looked at again. It's exactly the same way as Dot used to look at you. Like you've hung the moon. But, there's also something hungry in it. You swallow thickly when you see the heat in his eyes. You tremble when he bites at his lips. You're hungry too. You want him, but you're not sure in what context. What is it exactly you want from him? His heart and soul? Maybe.

 

You get a phone call to say that Steve will be home this afternoon, and you grin so wide it hurts. You practically skip your way back from the bakery with your bag of cannoli in hand. But, when you get back and see Steve on the couch, your heart drops into your stomach.

"What happened?" You ask shakily, rounding the couch and kneeling in front of him. The bag is left forgotten on the coffee table.

Steve laughs wetly, something catching horribly in the back of his throat. "Got shot."

"Who? Who the hell did this?" You demand, anger rising quicker than you thought possible.

"Buck, stop. It's okay. We got 'em."

You nod, but somehow you don't feel any better. You hands flutter all over Steve's chest, mostly just to check that he's really here, that he's alive. You tug at the suit, trying your hardest to get it off, and huff when Steve has to help you. The dressing is covered in blood and you tut loudly at him. "We've gotta do this again."

Steve nods and follows you into the bathroom, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub obediently. You carefully peel the gauze off and make a bitten off choking sound at the sight of the wound. "You're not going anymore. I don't want you to."

"I've got to." He whispers, cupping your face in his large hands and running his thumbs across your cheeks. 

You push him away and get the saline solution, wincing at the gasp Steve releases when you begin to dab at it. You cover it with a bandage and tape it securely. You know he'll be healed in a couple of days, but it doesn't make you feel any better. "What about Paris? You said we'd go away. So lets go." You reply quietly. You already know the answer. You did the first time he said it.

"I can't. We're getting too close."

You sigh and slump against him, let your body go loose and pliant against his knees. "Please?"

"Sorry, Buck." He replies, his fingers running through your hair and tugging gently.

You stalk out the bathroom angrily and fall down onto the couch, your head dropping into your hands. The cushions bounce as Steve plops down next to you and you sigh when he wraps an arm around your shoulders. You make a low growling sound when his breath hitches with just that small movement.

"What've you got there?" He asks.

"Huh?" You reply, looking up.

"In the bag on the table."

"Cannoli. I thought you might like it for when you got home."

"You left by yourself."

"Yep." You say defiantly.

"Can I have one?"

"I guess."

"I love cannoli."

"I know."

Suddenly he's leaning forward and pressing his forehead to your temple. Your breathing speeds up rapidly and your hands clamp down hard on your knees, the knuckles going white. His lips brush your cheek faintly and then he's gone again, leaning forward to grab the paper bag. You don't know how he's so calm when you feel like you're dying. One kiss isn't enough. You want  _more._

  

Steve climbs into your bed and when you look at him your stomach drops. His eyes are red and puffy and tears dampen his cheeks.

"What's wrong, Stevie?" You whisper, reaching out to wipe beneath his eyes.

"I missed you." He replies, his face crumpling. 

You pull him against you, let him bury his face into the curve of your neck, and fold him until he feels impossibly small in your arms. "I'm here. I'm right here."

"You were gone for so long." He sobs.

"I know, baby." You say. You don't know where the pet name comes from, but from the way that Steve whimpers, you think it was the right thing to say.

"I— I can't do that again. I can't."

"I'm not going anywhere. I promise. I'm staying right here. I'd never let you out of my arms again if I could."

"I keep dreaming about the train. No matter what I do, I can never catch you."

You stroke his hair and squeeze your eyes shut. "It doesn't matter now. It's all over with."

"I'm never gonna forgive myself for what I did to you."

"Yes you are. You've got nothing to forgive. It wasn't your fault."

"I could've jumped after you. I could've looked for you."

"You thought I was dead, Stevie."

"I was selfish. I just wallowed in my own misery. I could've found you, brought your body back so they could send you home."

"Nah, they wouldn't have done that shit. I would've ended up in one of those mass graves with all the other poor fuckers. And besides, I didn't die. You wouldn't have found anything."

Steve presses his face as far into your neck as is physically possible, his lips brushing against the skin there and peppering tiny little kisses. "I'm sorry." He says over and over, his voice barely audible.

You rub his back in large soothing circles. "It's all over now. We're both fine. We're home."

Steve sighs against you and all the tension in his body slowly dissipates. It's not long before he's fast asleep.

 

In the morning, you're pleasantly surprised to find a warm and sleep-ruffled Steve pressed against you, his legs tangled with you own. He's awake, his face so very close to yours, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. And, as if he does it every morning, he leans forward and presses your mouths together softly. You can't help the small shaky sound that escapes you as you kiss back, easily matching Steve's slow pace. He tilts his head to the side to get a better angle and you mirror him automatically. The kisses are small and innocent, but intense and filled with longing all the same. You wriggle yourself closer to him and sigh against him, the feeling of his warm body against yours more pleasurable than anything you've felt in a long time.

You only kiss for a couple of minutes before pulling back to rest your foreheads together, but you're both breathing heavily anyway. 

"Did we do this before?" You whisper.

Steve shakes his head, a small, soft smile on his face. 

"Did you want to? I think I did."

"I don't know. I want to now though." He admits.

You run your thumb along his cheekbone and down his jaw, lean forward and press your mouth to his again. You kiss along the contour of his jaw, listen to the half-sighs and half-moans he makes. It gets your blood pumping through your veins, sets your heart flying. He twists, trying to catch your mouth again, and bites down on your bottom lip. He sucks it into his mouth and then rolls you onto your back so he can settle his weight on top of you.

"Stevie," You sigh.

He lets out soft, hungry little sounds— _mm, m-mm...mm._ It's like he can't get enough of you. He nibbles at your lips, licks his way into your mouth and massages your tongues together. You push at his t-shirt to get to the hot skin beneath and run your fingers up and down the smooth curve of his spine. He likes that as well, arches into the touch desperately. You shudder all over, your temperature spiking as he yanks at your hair to get better access to your throat. He kisses and licks and bites at the skin, sucks at the flesh just below your ear until it turns a dark purple colour. You pull him back up and continue to assault his mouth, kisses getting dirtier and hungrier until you're both panting loudly into the quiet of your bedroom. He pushes a leg between yours until he can fit between your spread thighs and then pulls one around his hip. He rolls his hips down sharp and rough, his movements powerful enough that the mattress shifts against the floor. You tip your head back and let out a short scream, the friction of your cocks rubbing together through your boxers better than anything you can remember feeling.

"Fuck me." You breathe out thinly between the scorching presses of your lips.

Steve goes still and slowly pulls back to look down at you. He shakes his head minutely and you feel a knot twisting in your stomach. "Not yet."

"Don't you want me?" You whisper, heartbreak ready to consume you.

"Of course I do." He rushes to say. He cups your face in his hands and peppers your face with tiny kisses. "I just— I don't wanna mess this up. I wanna wait until we're ready."

"But, I am ready." You say with a frown.

"No you're not, Buck." He replies with a sad smile on his face. "You barely know who you are."

You shove him off you until he falls beside you. "Don't tell me what I am and aren't ready for. I've had enough people controlling me thank you very much. And as for knowing who I am, I'm as much me as I've been in a long time. I know I'm Bucky. I can feel it. You can't expect me to be the same as before. I'm always going to be different."

Steve runs a hand down your torso, watching the movement intently. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I just— This is important to me. I want to take things slow."

You nod. You'll give him whatever he wants, just as long as you can keep kissing him. You press your lips to his temple and breathe deeply, but then, "We can still kiss though, right?" You ask, stilling.

He smiles lovingly at you and wraps his arms around you, palming at the back of your head until you rest it on his chest. "Kissing's fine. I don't think I could stop kissing you now even if I wanted to. I don't think I'll ever not want to."

You smile and nuzzle against him. "Okay." You murmur. "But just for future reference. Don't make my decisions for me. I don't like it."

"Okay. I promise."

"Thank you."

"I understand if you don't want to wait. If you want to find someone else." He whispers after a moment.

You sit up and shove at him half-heartedly, a scowl on your face. "Don't be stupid. Why would you think that? I'm not gonna die if we don't have sex. I've gone seventy years without anything, I'm pretty sure my dick will cope if I don't get off for a little while longer."

At that, Steve sits up too. He rubs at your arms as if he can't stand to not be touching you, and looks at you with a frown. "You haven't gotten off? Not once?"

You shake you head, your cheeks flaming with embarrassment. "Scared." You say with a shrug. "Seventy years is a long time. I tried, but it was too... intense."

"You felt overwhelmed." Steve replies with understanding.

You nod.

"Okay. We definitely need to take this slow then. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

You groan. "I wish my body would just behave like a normal person."

"You've been through a lot, Buck. It's normal to have... I don't know, _difficulties._ I had the same problem when I came back. Apparently trauma can affect sexual functions as well as all the other shit. We'll work through it though. And _slowly._ "

You climb into his lap and press a kiss to his shoulder before hooking your chin over it. "Okay. I trust you."

"You've gotta tell me if anything ever feels like too much."

"I will."

 

"You do realise that whatever decorations we get for this thing, Anya's just going to jump up and pull them off." You say to Steve. You've driven upstate in the truck you borrowed from Sam and are walking around a tree farm. You want to get the perfect Christmas tree. After all, it's the first Christmas you've had together since you were kids, and the first you've had since the war. You've been walking around for at least an hour now and you're freezing, your noses red and your eyelashes clumped together, but you're so happy that you barely notice. Your gloved hand is clasped with Steve's and you swing your arms back and forth as you walk, Steve occasionally stopping to look at a tree and then shake his head. None of them reach his standards and you wonder briefly how long this is going to take.

"We'll just have to put them all up higher." He replies.

"I've heard that sometimes cats climb up the trees, bring the whole thing down."

Steve laughs. "Have you seen Anya? She's still a tiny fur ball. I doubt she's even going to be able to get to the first set of branches."

You smile fondly at the thought of her, probably curled up at home in your pile of blankets that are still mussed up from where you and Steve had pushed them off this morning. 

"Damn, she's got you wrapped around her little kitty finger, hasn't she?"

You shrug. "Have you seen how cute she is?"

"Yeah, Buck. That's why I got her for you."

You stop for a moment and pull Steve to you, your spare hand going to his waist as you raise up on your toes to kiss him softly. "Sap." You whisper when you break apart.

Steve darts forward to kiss you again and leans back with a smile. God, you love him so much.

"Come on, we've got a tree to find." Steve says, pulling you along to the next row of trees. 

 

"You feel so good." You moan. "So good."

"Mm... So do you, Buck." He sighs. 

He's got you pinned down on the couch beneath him, his hands holding your wrists above your head and his hips pressing you down into the cushions.

It was just supposed to be a light peck on the cheek before Steve went to make dinner, but your breath had hitched and he had flicked his tongue out, and then suddenly you were collapsing down onto the couch, your hands moving frantically over each other as you kissed hungrily.

You kiss slower now. You're not in a hurry. Dinner can wait.

Steve seems determined to take his time, take you apart bit by bit until you're writhing beneath him, trying desperately to rock your hips up and get some friction. He holds your wrists in one hand and presses down on your hip with the other. You whine high-pitched in the back of your throat, toss your head from side to side when he moves down and sucks on your nipple through your shirt, the material going damp from the wet heat of his mouth.

"Steve, please. Stop."

Steve pulls back immediately, a panicked, horrified look on his face. "What? What'd I do?"

You stare up at the ceiling, your breath coming in short pants. "I can't take it. I need— If you're gonna keep doing that I don't think I'll be able to stop. I need— Need a cold shower or something."

Steve laughs, relief written all over his face. "I'd say I'll join you, but that might defeat the purpose, huh?"

You groan loudly, one arm tossing over your eyes. "Please stop. You're killing me."

"You want me to touch you, Bucky?" He whispers, his voice suddenly low and gravelly. You peek from beneath your arm and watch as he crawls his way over your body, his eyes half-lidded and dark. "Want me to make you feel good?"

You gulp loudly and reach out to touch his shoulders. "Uh huh."

"Want me to touch you here?" He asks, one hand sliding down to cup you through your jeans.

A punched out gasp leaves your mouth and you dig your nails into the meat of his biceps. _"Steve."_

"Too much?" 

"No, no. Please."

He smirks and you scramble to pull him closer. You know what the little shit's about to do. "Maybe later." He says, removing his hand and climbing off the couch.

"You asshole!" You yell at his retreating figure. "You— You fucking tease!"

"I got paperwork to do, Buck. Can't stay at home all the time and not do any work." He replies over his shoulder.

You rub the heels of your hands into your eyes and groan loudly. "I hate you." 

 

You're sat at the kitchen table flicking through the pile of sci-fi novels that Steve brought back for you the other day. H.G. Wells. Douglas Adams. Ray Bradbury. Arthur C. Clarke.

You smile at the smell of them. That smell of brand new that you'll never get over. They never smelt this good in the 30s. 

Steve is cooking and keeps turning to look at you with a smile. "They okay, Buck?"

You nod enthusiastically whilst you read the blurb of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. 

"I recognised some of the titles from before. The rest the worker at the bookstore helped me out with."

"Are they for Christmas?" You ask.

"No. I just wanted to get you something."

You stand up and walk over to him, wrap your arms around him from behind and hook your chin over his shoulder. "I love you." You whisper like a secret.

You hear Steve's harsh intake of breath. For a moment you panic. You think you've said the wrong thing. But then Steve says, "I love you too."

You smile so wide it hurts. You press kisses to his cheek, his jaw, his neck. Trace the column of it with your tongue. He shivers and leans back against you.

_"Bucky."_

"Dinner Steve. Don't let me distract you."

He groans loudly. "This is pay back for the other day, isn't it?"

"Maybe." You say with a chuckle.

"Mm." Steve moans. "It feels so good I don't even care."

"You want me to stop? Let you concentrate?"

"No, don't stop."

You're tempted to deny him the pleasure, but you want it just as much. The taste of his skin is tantalising, delicious on your tongue. You nibble on his collarbone, press your half-hard dick against the curve of his ass. "You're killing me, Rogers."

"God, don't— Not yet. Not like this."

"I know, baby. We ain't gotta do anything. Just thought you should know what you do to me. You get me so hard, Stevie."

He groans loudly, his head tipping back and his eyes sliding closed. You keep one arm wrapped around his waist and take hold of the spoon from Steve to stir the dinner with the other. You rock him from side to side for a minute and then step back again. "Come on, pal. Don't want me burning the dinner do you?"

He lifts his head from where it's still hanging back with a heavy sigh and takes the spoon back. "No. You're a terrible cook."

You snort as you sit back down at the table and give him a wink when you find him looking at you again. He sighs happily and turns back to the food.

"What're you cooking anyway?"

"Your favourite."

And at that, you can't help but grin. 

 

You get back from your run, dripping wet and shivering. Steve rushes forward and smoothes your hair back from your forehead. "Why'd you stay out for so long? I was worried. You're gonna catch a damn cold, Buck."

"Cold." You mutter, your teeth chattering. "Don't like— Don't like the cold."

Steve nods at you and pulls you towards him. "Come on. We'll get you a nice hot bath and get you warmed up. Okay?"

He leads you into the bathroom and starts running the bath while you stand shivering behind him. Then he turns to you and starts stripping off the layers of clothing that are stuck to your skin. Once they're off, he presses you against him and envelops you in his arms. You give a shudder at the feeling of heat and let out a sigh of relief.

"That's it, Buck."

"Don't like the cold." You say again.

"You're not going out tomorrow. Not until this damn storm has passed. Okay?"

You nod and tug at Steve's shirt until he pulls it off. The feeling of skin against skin is infinitely better.

"Do you want me to leave you alone to bathe?"

You clutch at him desperately and shake your head. The cold has really unsettled you and you need him close. Steve is the only tie you have to now, to a place that is far away from Hydra's reach. 

"Okay, buddy."

He helps you into the bath, his eyes not dropping any lower than your chest because he's Steve and he's respectful even if he's seen you naked more times than you can count. You moan loudly when you sink into the water, and if your eyes aren't deceiving you, Steve has to swallow past a lump in his throat.

"Better?"

"God, yes."

"Sit cross-legged and face the wall." He tells you.

"Why?"

"Your shoulders are all tense. I wanna get the knots out."

You do as he says, all too happy to follow his orders because it's  _Steve_ and he'd never abuse his power over you. You cry out at the first press of his thumbs into your deltoids and Steve shushes you gently from behind. It hurts, but only for a little while. Before long you're slumping forward, your eyes closed as you begin to drift off, Steve's warm hands just stroking your back now. You're blissfully calm and you turn obediently when Steve pulls at your shoulder. He cups your cheek with one hand and brings you in for a gentle kiss. 

"That's it, baby." He whispers. "Feeling good?"

"Mhm." You murmur.

"You want me to wash you?"

"Mhm."

You sit with your eyes closed while he rubs the cloth over you, the warm water cascading over you as he washes your torso and shoulders. He pauses for a moment and you look up. He's staring at your groin, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. You take hold of his hand slowly, pull the cloth away, and press it down until his fingers are curled around your cock. Steve lets out a choked off groan, but starts to pull back.

"Please, Stevie." You whimper.

He looks you in the eye, his pupils massive, and gives you a small nod. He grips harder and begins to move his hand up and down. You throw your head back against the rim of the bathtub and shout as he twists at the head and runs his thumb through the slit.

_"Steve."_

"I'm right here."

You grab hold of his forearm, not to stop him, but just to anchor yourself to something. He presses his forehead against yours, pants against your lips as your legs start to kick out, water sloshing over the side. He keeps whispering,  _fuck_ and  _Bucky,_ as he plays with you. Your brows pinch and your mouth falls open as it builds and builds, your body too wound up from seventy years of not being touched, and suddenly you're coming with an embarrassingly loud cry, Steve moaning beside you as he continues to pump his hand over you, milking you for all you're worth.

You finally slump back, Steve letting go of your cock to catch you before you fall below the water's surface. "That good, Buck? D'you feel better, baby?"

You nod, but it's sluggish and barely there. Steve laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and running a hand down your back. 

"Guess I can handle it after all."

Steve hums. "You did so good."

"Must be your magic charm."

"Obviously."

You grin up at him lazily and he kisses the smile right off your face. 

 

It's dark outside and you're curled up with Steve on the couch, Anya asleep on your lap. The Muppet's Christmas Carol is on the television and you sigh happily when Steve nuzzles against the top of your head. It's raining heavily, a miserable Christmas Eve, and the sound of it hitting the window planes is making you sleepy, especially with how warm and cosy it is in the apartment. 

"Winter never used to be like this." You murmur.

Steve squeezes you against him for a moment. "I know."

"I used to hate it. You were always getting sick. Never knew which day was gonna be your last."

"Doesn't matter now, Buck. I'm not like that anymore."

"Still feel like I'm waiting for it though. For you to be gone."

"I haven't been going on missions. I'm safe. We both are."

You sigh heavily. "I know you hate it though. Just doing paperwork all the time. I know you miss your friends."

"Well, yeah, but this is more important to me right now. I want you to get better first. That's my priority."

You tip your head to look up at him and he presses a chaste kiss against your lips like he just can't help it. "I don't want you to end up resenting me."

"Buck, you know I could never."

"Still doesn't feel right."

"Remember what you said about me making decisions for you? About thinking I know what's right?"

You nod.

"It goes both ways. _This_ is what I want. I love you, Buck. I'd rather spend time with you than do anything else."

Tears fill your eyes and you lurch upwards, Anya falling from your lap, and kiss him roughly on the mouth. He gasps in surprise, but quickly returns the kiss with equal fervour. You climb into his lap and pin him against the back of the couch, slamming him back when he tries to push up into you.

"Buck—"

"Shut up and kiss me." You beg.

He groans and presses his mouth to yours, pulls you closer, pulls you flush against his body. He licks across you tongue, sucks on it until you're whining loudly against him. He pushes you shirt up and off, wraps his lips around your taut nipple and bites down. You cry out, grab two fistfuls of Steve's hair and pull as your head falls back and you pant into the quiet of the living room air. 

"Steve, _Steve,_  auh— nghh."

He laves his tongue over it, again and again, sucks harshly until it's so oversensitive that tears are budding in your eyes. You pull him back up, kiss his cheeks, his forehead, his eyelids, his nose, his lips. His hips lift and you grind down against him, the denim of your jeans giving a delicious friction that makes universes explode behind your eyelids. Steve grabs hold off your ass, squeezes and pulls you down harder. You bear down on him, wrap your arms around his neck whilst he bites and sucks on your neck.

"Steve, can we—  _ah!_ Can we— Can we keep going?  _Please._ I don't wanna stop."

"Okay, baby." He whispers against your lips. "Not here though. We're not doing this on the couch."

You're about to jump to your feet when Steve's hands slide to the tops of your thighs and he hoists you into the air. He carries you hastily into his bedroom, dumps you down onto the bed and then crawls up your reclining body. He pushes your thighs up and out, slides between them and hooks them around his waist.

"That's it." He murmurs when you whine at the return of friction. He shakes his head from side to side, brushes his lips against yours until you're trembling, your toes curling and flexing. 

"Oh God, please. _Stevie."_

Steve kneels up and frantically undoes the button of your jeans, slides down the zipper and yanks the offending piece of clothing down your legs along with your boxers. You're about to complain that you're completely naked whilst he's fully dressed, but then he's diving down between your legs and licking up the length of your cock. You slam your head back into the pillows when he takes you in hand and tilts you up so that he can take you into his mouth. You whimper deep in your chest, your brow furrowing, and palm at the back of his head, encouraging him to move. He begins to slowly bob his head, breathing deeply through his nose. The warm wet heat of it sets you on fire, makes you twist and turn on top of the sheets enough that Steve has to throw an arm over your waist to keep you still. He takes you deeper and deeper as the time passes and his throat starts to relax. You make the big mistake of looking down at him, the obscene stretch of his red lips around your dick making your eyes roll back into your head. You breathe deeply and count down from ten, desperate to ignore the wet sucking sounds and hold back your orgasm for just that little bit longer. It feels too good to stop. You want it to go on forever.

He pulls back slightly, his tongue running up and down the length of you gently, and then suddenly flicks it mercilessly against your frenulum until your shoot up into a sitting position, your fingers tugging at his hair and whimper a final, _"M'gonna come... Gonna— Oh, oh fuck— Hah!"_

You spill down his throat with a shaky gasp, your whole body jolting as your orgasm floods you and sends you flying through the heavens. Tears spill down your cheeks from the force of it and you slowly come down, sinking back into the mattress as you do so.

"Stevie." You croak out.

"Right here, baby." He coos, his weight settling on top of you again as he strokes the hair back from your tacky forehead. 

"So good." You whimper. "Love you. Love you so much."

Steve laughs softly. "Look who's talking through his dick."

"Want you to fuck me. Want to make you feel good."

"Say it again."

" _Fuck. Me."_

Steve groans loudly and bites at your lips. "M'gonna make you forget everything until the only thing you remember is how to scream my name."

"Please. Please, Stevie. Let me have it. Want you."

Steve slides off the bed and makes quick work of stripping out of his clothes. He's hovering above you again before you know it and you sigh at the feeling of his erect cock nudging your half-hard one. Steve slides a hand between you and the pillow so he can stroke at the soft hairs at the nape of your neck, his lips gliding over your cheek until they reach your ear. "I love you." He whispers.

"I love you too."

Then, suddenly, Steve is sliding down your body and back between your legs. He pushes your knees up to your chest and looks up at you. "Okay?"

You nod frantically.  _Yes! Yes!_

Steve places his thumbs either side of your asshole and gently prises the cheeks apart so he can get a good glimpse at the small pink pucker. He leans forwards slowly and gives an experimental lick, one that makes your mouth fall open and your chest rise and fall quickly. He closes his lips around your hole and sucks gently, flicks his tongue over it quickly and pointedly until you're making loud blissful sounds, your fingers twisting in the sheets as you try to ground yourself. You start chanting a series of  _Steve,_ and  _please,_ and  _fuck,_ over and over, a litany that sounds more and more like a prayer the longer he goes at it.

Just as you start to feel like you can't stand it anymore, he starts rolling his tongue in circles around the rim and then darting his tongue  _inside_ you, massaging the walls and stretching you open. He fucks you with it until you're crying openly, howling out his name and squeezing his head between your thighs. It's too much. It's  _too_ much. But fuck does it feel good. You don't know whether to push him away or pull him closer and your legs are shaking with the struggle of it all. You don't think you can stand it any longer. It's so good but you need him inside you. You need to feel him.

"Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me." You sob out.

"Okay, baby. Calm down." He whispers, stroking a hand over your flank as he reaches over to the bed side table with the other. "I'm gonna take good care of you. Just take some deep breaths."

You do as he says, but you can't help but gasp when a slick finger slides up into your channel. You're loose enough from Steve's tongue that it's almost effortless to push it up to the second knuckle. The pressure feels beautiful and you ease into it almost immediately. You moan almost the entire time that Steve pushes in the next finger, getting louder when he starts to scissor them, stretching you open slowly but surely. You shudder against him when he crooks them slightly, dragging them back until he hits that spot that has you screaming out his name into the darkness. 

"That's it." Steve coos. He leans forward to press a series of kisses over your chest, sucking on your abused nipple gently enough that it feels only slightly oversensitive.

"Don't stop." You slur, your breath hitching when Steve presses in a third finger. "Feels— Feels good."

Steve twists his fingers again, and again, and again, rubbing against that spot until you're sobbing, fat tears running down you cheeks.

"Holy shit!" You yell out. "M'gonna... _A_ _uh!_  Oh,  _fuck..._ M'gonna come!" 

Steve pulls his fingers out despite your distressed cries and wipes his hand on the sheets beside him. He rubs soothingly at your thighs and makes a soft clucking sound. "Not yet. I wanna get inside you first."

"Yes! Please, Steve. Now.  _Please."_

Steve rips the condom open and hurries to get it on. You hear him shift and then suddenly you can feel the head pressing against your hole. Steve gives a couple of short thrusts, just teasing, and then slowly pushes inside. There's a little resistance at first, the muscles contracting instinctively, but once the head slides in it's like your body is pulling him further inside. You whine loudly and look down until your eyes meet his. There's a silent question in them, a need to know that you're okay. You smile widely at him and nod, your legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer to you, sliding him in deeper.

"Oh God,  _Buck."_ He moans when he bottoms out, his balls pressing against you ass. And,  _that's you._ That's you that Steve's moaning for. You never thought in a million years that you'd get to have this. Never thought you could feel this good, this complete. 

"Move. Fuck, _move."_ You beg. You roll your hips downwards, shoving yourself further down on his cock. Steve lets out a garbled shout and pins your hips down. "Stevie—"

Steve pulls back and _slams_ forward. He grabs one of your legs and then the other and throws them over his shoulders, bending you in half until the angle is just right. You cry out and thrash against the sheets, the pleasure so intense you can hardly bear it. Steve doesn't let up though, just keeps pounding into you, rubbing against that spot mercilessly until it's  _too much._ You want to tell him to stop, you do, except you can't because it's too good. It's so, so, so good. 

You watch as he moves above you, in you, with a look of complete wonder and devotion on his face. It's reverent as much as it is brutal, the way he snaps his hips, and you smile up at him brokenly as he gets faster and faster. He leans down for a sloppy kiss and you grab onto his arms as the pleasure builds to an impossible height. You gasp desperately, your mouth falling open as you begin to fall apart, and then suddenly the world goes white, lightning strikes your insides, hot spurts of come shooting from your dick and all over your chest.

You're faintly aware of Steve still moving in you, fucking your through it, and then with a final grunt he collapses on top of you. You're both breathing heavily and you barely manage to lean up and press a short kiss to Steve's cheek. He hums, his forehead dropping to your chest and lets out a small laugh.

"What?" You whisper fondly.

"Nothing. Just love you is all."

You wrap your arms around him and pull until he settles his weight over your again. "Guess what?" You murmur in his ear.

"What?"

"I love you too."

Steve laughs even louder at that and it's so infectious and you're so happy that you can't help but join in. "We need to do that again."

"And again and again and again." You add. You wiggle your hips and you both gasp when you're reminded that Steve's still inside you. "How long till you can get it up again?"

"Give me ten minutes." He replies.

 

The sun is rising, its thin yellow light streaming through the window and across your naked bodies. It's Christmas morning, a day you never thought you'd get to enjoy again, and you're laying on the living room floor, buried in blankets, with the man that you love. 

"Stevie." You say with an elbow to his side.

"Mmph?" He replies, his face buried between your neck and the pillow. He lifts his head up and looks down at you, a lazy smile stretching across his face. 

You wrap a hand around the back of his neck and pull him down into a sweet kiss, then whisper against his lips, "Merry Christmas, beautiful."

He rolls onto his side and pulls you with him, slots his right leg between yours and hooks your left around his waist. "Merry Christmas, Buck."

"This is the best thing I could've ever asked for. You're the best thing I could've ever asked for." You whisper, stroking his cheek lovingly.

He lifts his hand and presses it to the outside of yours, holding it to his face. "And you're all I've ever wanted, Buck."

"Even like this? Metal arm and all?"

He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against yours. "Metal arm and all."

_"Stevie."_  

"My Bucky." He whispers. "You'll always be my Bucky."

 

In the end, you are Bucky Barnes.

You are Bucky Barnes, and Steve Rogers loves you. Despite the odds.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://enochianess.tumblr.com) and [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCASBQ68lbb2CWPhhZuRmC_A)
> 
> If you liked it, please leave kudos or comments!


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